


Black Magic

by punkyjr



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Drabble, Drunk!Toby, F/M, Hurt, I apologize in advance for this piece of work, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of medicine abuse, Quintis - Freeform, Toby moping post proposal, lots of self loathing, medicine abuse, this is kind of a songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkyjr/pseuds/punkyjr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby processes what happened at the garage, and begins to cope with his situation over the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird, quasi-songfic type of work loosely based on the lyrics of Ruston Kelly's song "Black Magic", which Scorpion fans know as the song from the end of "Toby Or Not Toby". Other than that, it's just kind of awkward word-vomit.

It took every bit of strength Toby had within him not to fall to pieces when only he returned from the garage that night. His apartment felt emotionally tainted when he walked in the door, thinking of the times he spent with Happy within its walls. The could-have-beens swirled around his head just like the world spun around him as he downed another shot of tequila. Happy’s pained answer rung in his ears as even drunkenness and anti-anxiety pills failed to quiet the doubt and self-hatred sown by discovering Happy had hidden a marriage from him. Was I not worth the truth? Why would she spend so much time with me and end up so emotionally entangled in this unholy mess we’ve become if she knew she couldn’t follow through with what had the potential to happen? Why would she hurt me like this? Or, for that matter, why would she hurt herself like this? Why open up to someone just to close herself off again? Nowhere in the apartment was safe, everything had ghosts of Happy, memories that wouldn’t leave him alone. In the living room, he wasn’t sure how long he’d spent collapsed against the wall, but the moon shaped abrasions on his palms told him it was long enough to bleed and scab over without him even registering discomfort. Had he blacked out from the alcohol or disassociated from the trauma? Both were equally likely, and, with the curtains and blinds drawn tight, Toby wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Literal blows to the gut hadn’t hurt as much as the way the will to live seemed to escape him whenever he thought about the way the proposal ended. He’d known he had some skeletons in his closet, so to speak- and not the trusty plastic model in the cupboard by the kitchen that he had used to study while in medical school -but he never expected Happy to blindside him with one of her own. He heaved himself up off the floor, brushing bits of carpet fuzz off of himself, and regretted the past night’s post-proposal choices as the world tilted under his feet while pain seared through his head to remind him that standing up too quickly when hungover is a very bad idea. He barely made it to the bathroom before bile and tequila poured forth from his mouth, burning him as much as his thoughts did. Physical illness would pass, he told himself, but the emotional wound was still gaping open.  
Even after rehydrating and coaxing saltine crackers into himself, Toby still felt ill, but he knew better than to chalk it up to his choices from the previous night. He knew somatic symptomology well enough to know the sickness was a physical manifestation of the emotional wreckage he had become with just a few words. He didn’t even bother to lock the door of the apartment when he ran outside just to get out of the toxic environment within those walls. He’d never run much, preferring to power walk since that was better for the average person’s health, but he lost count of how many city blocks he ran before the polluted L.A. air forced him to stop and wheeze while doubled over. Strangers walking by gave him concerned looks as they parted their flow of traffic around him. He knew he must have been a sight for sore eyes, still in the previous day’s sweat drenched clothes, rope marks still visible on his wrists and forehead. They were probably wondering if he had escaped some sadistic serial killer’s lair. He wished the floss had snapped and dumped the acid on him so he could have asphyxiated instead of suffering through the rejected proposal and the bombshell Happy had dropped on him back at the garage. He forced himself to keep moving so people would stop staring at him. His body knew how to navigate the back alleys and gutters of L.A. from many a night spent fleeing debtors and gamblers, so his mind was free to go elsewhere.   
It was starting to look to him as if love were nothing more than a sick joke he always ended up being the butt of, as if he were affected by some kind of cruel black magic. For so long, he had poured all his energy into proving himself worthy of Happy’s attention, trust, and affection, but it was all for nothing. He had wished for that, and it had happened, but in the end, it didn’t matter, because the universe seemed to want him to accept that a healthy relationship between them was never a possibility. His relationship with Happy had been the best thing that happened to him, and it was a shame that all the healing it had brought him had now flown out the window as the pain it brought him plunged him into the murky depths of depression. He still wondered how on earth the one person in the world he’d trusted with his life could kill him. Collins and his insistence on solitude were beginning to make more sense to Toby with every minute that passed, and that reality scared him. He didn’t want to become the warped individual that Collins had become after losing the most important person in his life. Sure, being social was exposing oneself to vulnerability, but that willingness to be weak in such a way was also what made a person human. He was dying on the inside, there was no doubt about that. There was no use in returning to the garage, either, as it was tainted with the shadows of better times, and he couldn’t risk running into Happy there and reliving the agony. Scorpion had been the stabilizing force in his life, and now he’d lost it, leaving him adrift without an anchor. Dread filled him as he thought about how little credibility he had outside of Scorpion’s realm of operations, due to the judgements people made about his past and his appearance. He’d never exactly been an expert at making good first impressions. If he couldn’t bear to work for Scorpion anymore, what would he turn to? Even with a degree from Harvard medical school, and all that it entailed, he felt any interviewers would laugh him out of the office were he to inquire about jobs. The self-deprecating humor he had used around Walter and the rest of the team was just self-loathing without them. How could he convince anyone else to give him a chance when he barely gave himself a break?  
He kept aimlessly wandering the streets, catching the eyes of police officers on the graveyard shift’s patrol. A few asked him what he was up to, being out so late, but understood when he explained that he needed to clear his head after a difficult breakup, which was the closest Toby could come to explaining his situation without breaking down again. Better that than drinking away the pain, one joked, and Toby could only laugh ruefully at the irony of the statement when considering his initial response. Thoughts of gods and devils came to the forefront when he considered the ease with which fate had twisted. He had never been religious but Happy had brought him to his knees.


End file.
